Q & A
by stillkneedeep
Summary: She keeps going. Because somewhere, at the end of that tunnel, are her answers; answers to the questions that tear her apart every second of every day. //anise..slight ionxanise//


Deep down, she knows that she's dreaming.

But she just can't stop.

The hallway is long; black; dark—and seemingly never-ending.

She runs and runs and runs.

Her legs scream in agony, but she keeps going.

Going_going_**going**.

Because somewhere, at the end of that tunnel, are her answers.

Answers to the questions that tear her apart every second of every day.

Answers that dangle just a little out of her reach.

She's short of breath; she's been running for hours—or has it been days?—and it's killing her. Her lungs burn, but she carries on because this could be her only chance. Her only chance to clear her conscience—her _head_—her **being**.

She's made it.

The door.

The_way_**out**of_this_**god**forsaken_place_.

She picks up her pace.

She's so close now—

_So close—_

**Just a little more—**

Anise bolts upright in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat.

She curses quietly when she realizes that it was just _another_ **damn** nightmare.

Placing her left hand to her forehead, she wipes away any beads of sweat that threaten to roll down her face before turning to observe her surroundings. The fire crackles beside her as it slowly dies out. Around her, oracle knights lay strewn on the ground, sleeping. Light snores drift around the campsite, and just once, **Major** Anise Tatlin wishes that she could sleep like her soldiers.

She places a hand on the ground and hoists herself up off the ground without making a single sound. As quietly as possible, she tiptoes away from the campsite, giggling slightly as her green-haired traveling companion mumbles **her name** in his sleep, and then rolls over, falling back into his deep sleep.

Once she's a safe fifty feet away, she relaxes and sighs, dragging her feet over the ground. Judging by her current position, she figures that she's about half a mile from the Fubras River… Perfect. That's exactly where she needs to go.

The walk to the Fubras is silent, and as pleasant as a walk in a sleeping world can be. The Rugnican Plains are simple—no fireflies, no lightning bugs—just unmastered terrain as far as the eye can see. Normally, no one would ever head to the Fubras without a bodyguard or two, but ever since the Fubras' flow has become unpredictable, the monsters, as well as any people in the area, fled as far as they could.

Anise doesn't mind. The life of an oracle knight is so **monotonous**—she wouldn't mind a little **excitement**.

When she arrives, the river is in perfect condition, though by the way the grass is pointing slightly to the right, there are obvious signs of a recent overflow.

She sits on a dry rock, and stares at the night sky, asking herself the same questions.

What if she hadn't _killed_ Arietta? Would Arietta be sitting next to her? Would they be swapping stories and laughing like old friends? Would they have sorted things out? Would things have been different? Could they go back to just being two friends?

What if she hadn't _killed_ Sync? Would he be one of her comrades? Would they be camping under the stars in the same troop? Would he have found his existence? Would she have given him a meaning for existence? Could they have ever been friends?

What if she hadn't let **him** die? Would he be sitting next to her, laughing and pointing out constellations? Would she fall asleep next to him every night? Would she still be his "most cherished"? Could they have stayed friends—or maybe, just maybe, could they have been more?

She closes her eyes and smells his scent, hears his voice, and reaches out for his hand.

And finds herself grasping at thin air.

What if, _what if_, **what if**.

She sits by the edge and thinks until dawn breaks. She rises at last when the first streak of light adorns the horizon. Anise then heads back, her head clear for another day. When she arrives at the campsite, no one else is awake. She grins, grabs two pots from the now fully extinguished fire pit, and prepares a rather rude wakeup call for her soldiers.

After she had finished banging her pots together and dealing with some very irritable oracle knights, she turns and looks at the sky.

She feels a tug on her sleeve and turns to see him looking at her with those eyes.

"Anise, are you okay?"

She takes his hand (it's just like **his**) and smells his scent (**just the same**—they really are replicas).

"I'm fine, Florian."

She smiles, and **tries so hard** not to seem broken.


End file.
